


help me out here?

by armideatys



Series: tell me, [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 03, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armideatys/pseuds/armideatys
Summary: all they have left is each other. what do they build from here?s4e1 - v takes on the loose ends as she's always done - alone.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: tell me, [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791028
Comments: 1
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

They had walked, and they had turned back.

Eve’s vision blurred with tears, and the cold wind didn’t help. But there Villanelle was, with a familiar smirk but a different glimmer in her eye. Eve couldn’t have fought against the stillness if she tried. Her body felt anchored, time suspended.

 _Did she want her to come back?_ Indecision suddenly settled back into Eve’s bones, an ever present companion. _What was actually happening?_

“Villanelle?” she finally called out. Eve took a single uncertain step back toward the center of the bridge. The other woman calmly held up her hand, and Eve lurched to a halt as soon as she had started, drawing her own outstretched hand back against her body.

Villanelle smiled gently, a full expression of warmth that took Eve aback. She shook her head, no, and lifted her hand to her face. Eve leant forward to hear what she was going to shout, but she only blew her a kiss.

Eve couldn’t help but laugh, eliciting a coy grin from Villanelle as well. The assassin broke eye contact, looking down in a brief expression of vulnerability that made Eve’s heart swell just a bit.

“Goodbye,” she read on Villanelle’s lips. She waved, turned, and walked away briskly. Eve found herself standing on the bridge alone, watching the other woman’s back, open-mouthed.

“Dick…” she muttered to herself, finally bringing herself to walk away, too. She wasn’t sure what emotion she was feeling: a strange mix of irritation, affection, and thrill. A common combination when it came to that particular woman, Eve realized.

She stepped off the bridge sidewalk and the chilled wind subsided significantly. Eve realized she was sweltering under her puffy coat and went to unzip it when she felt her phone buzz in its pocket. Her cold fingers fumbled, almost dropping it in the gutter.

VILLANELLE: “…for now. I’ll come back for you, my dear. x”

Eve threw her head back and scoffed.

“Dick!”

* * *

Villanelle had business to attend to. She indulged in the elation, first, though.

She had been chosen.

She laughed aloud, breaking into a brief skip and a twirl, her broad yellow coat flaring in the wind. She stared up at the sky and its moon, partially obscured in high, glowing clouds, then back at her feet, stepping quickly over uneven London pavements. She narrowly avoided collision with a harried businessman, who shot her a sour glance (which she met with a joyful grin).

_Was this what it felt like? Was this how feeling, felt?_

Villanelle could not find precedence for the warmth that started in her chest and propagated along her limbs, to her fingertips and the top of her head and her flushed cheeks. She felt big, vast in her sensations, turned entirely inward and satisfied, engrossed in what she found there for perhaps the first time. Eve’s smile, above a sparkling Thames and framed by the glancing lights of the bridge and its passing cars, felt imprinted in her mind’s eye. Villanelle rubbed the hand that had blown Eve a silly kiss, mild, giddy regret passing over her. _Should’ve kissed her._

Villanelle shut her eyes for just a moment, indulging in the memory of the frenzied bus encounter, only to almost walk straight into oncoming traffic. A brash horn startled her into the present. She stepped back onto the sidewalk, and the cars sped past. Her eyes followed them; one of which was a quiet police car.

No, she’d have to wait a little bit longer.

She stepped back from the street, pulling out her phone. (No response from Eve.)

8:27 PM. _Maybe 24 hours since…?_ Villanelle grimaced. Hélène would have definitely started getting suspicious…if she hadn't already found out. _Maybe if she hadn’t been so hasty about where and how she had…disposed of her…Death by train certainly wasn’t the most inconspicuous way to kill a deadbeat colleague._

“Fuck…fuck…” she groaned, pacing on the sidewalk. _Would Hélène want her dead? Would they want her back...?_ _No. She had been a continuous pain in the ass for over 48 hours, Rhian was probably the last straw…_ As much as her mind raced, she felt a fog over her thoughts that only caused her to go in fruitless circles. She couldn’t shake all the images of the past couple days; of Dasha falling to the golf course rough, Rhian screaming under the wheels of the train, of Konstantin begging at the mercy of Carolyn, of the neat little entry wound in The Twelve-man’s forehead. Of Eve.

_Who the hell was that man?_

Villanelle clutched her head, choking back a frustrated shout. She began to regret leaving Eve, and a part of her wanted to believe she would be less of a mess with her around. She entertained the thought of calling her up again, taking her with her to track down Hélène and…what?

There was too much danger. She had set off something in motion on the Tube tracks, and Carolyn’s bullet had shifted the playing field in even more ways Villanelle knew she did not understand. What Villanelle did know, was that Helene would have the grudge against her first. Eve wasn’t relevant when it was Rhian dead, Dasha dead, Villanelle’s failed mission… _and the man that Martens shot?_ Villanelle frowned. No, her job wasn’t to take care of MI6. Eve had seemed a bit peeved with Carolyn, anyways.

Villanelle would handle what was left, gather up what they would need, and tell Eve to meet with her to escape together.

_Together. Cold turkey._

Villanelle felt another rush of glee. She flagged a taxi, nestling into the warmth of the rear seat and opening her phone again. A pair of eyes peered at her from the rear view mirror.

“Where to, miss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a fun project to keep KE in my life until the real szn 4. pwb hire me ;)
> 
> (also, partly inspired by jodie's comment in the BAFTA zoom livestream, where she guesses they "initially walk away". )


	2. Chapter 2

Eve turned the key in the lock slowly and nudged the door of the apartment open. She peered into the dim entryway, only to see the flashing of a muted television against the living room wall. She tip toed in anyways.

Her attempt at stealth was fruitless. She knocked down a row of umbrellas with her purse.

“Shit.”

“Welcome home.” Jamie’s voice carried from the living room. Eve stepped in, observing the pile of takeout containers on the coffee table. Jamie sat on the floor. Bear and Audrey were huddled on the couch behind him, the former cradling a box of noodles. All three pairs of eyes followed Eve across the room.

“Hey guys…” she mumbled, ducking unsuccessfully past the telly.

“Eve,” Jamie called. Eve froze, wincing. “Can we talk, please?”

“Yeah.”

He followed her down the hall into the children’s room. Eve’s clothes were strewn about the already small room. She backed up against a particularly messy dresser, smiling nervously as Jamie looked briefly around the room, then at her.

“Eve,” he began.

“Jamie, we’ve found out who killed Kenny, you won’t believe—”

“I know. We’re the ones who found it and told Carolyn.”

“How—”

“Eve, let me talk. Please.”

She shut up, uncertain.

“This isn’t about Kenny anymore, is it?” Eve opened her mouth to respond, but Jamie held up a hand. “Rhetorical question. I know…I know what it looks like when someone’s chasing their high.”

Eve scoffed indignantly.

“I can’t believe what you’re trying to say. Honestly, what _are_ you trying to say? I’m a junkie for justice?”

“I knew you were already addicted to…all of this. But her. I could see it in her eyes a mile away.”

Eve expression went from affront to incredulous resignation. She shook her head.

“You can say whatever you want about what you _think_ my motivations were--are.” she corrected herself. “But you can’t run away from this once you see it.”

“I can. I’m walking away, and so are Bear and Audrey.”

“Really.”

“We aren’t like you, Eve, or _her_.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly, gesturing back at the two down the hall. “We do what we can, and I can’t put my people in danger for something I know I couldn’t take on.”

Eve looked at him, reading the fatigue in his face. She sighed, sitting down on the bottom bunk and putting her own head in her hands.

“How long can I stay?”

“As long as you need. But you need to lay low, if so. No girlfriends over.”

Eve looked up to glare at Jamie, who shrugged good-naturedly.

“I’m serious.”

Eve shook her head, laughing in spite of herself.

“Thank you.”

“Yep.”

* * *

Villanelle stared up at the stark, modernist house, glowing faintly with light from its few windows. She shoved her hands in her pockets and couldn’t help but chuckle. What a suitable home for its inhabitant.

She buzzed the door in a cheerful pattern, rocking impatiently on her feet.

The door cracked just a bit and two nervous blue eyes peeked around the corner. Villanelle sized them up in an instant.

“Hello,” she squeaked in a London accent, pulling her eyes wide and her hands back out of her pockets. She stepped toward the door earnestly, and it nudged open a little wider. The woman at the door appeared quite concerned. “Please tell me Ms. Martens is home?”

“U-um, yes,” she stammered. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’m here to warn her, I’m afraid she’s in imminent danger…” Villanelle blurted, the door gently with two hands. The woman relented, letting her into the foyer. Villanelle appraised the home appreciatively. A bit blunt for her tastes, but definitely refined.

“Mum! Someone from work is here!”

Villanelle turned back to the harried woman. “There’s a number of individuals on their way to this residence, I’m afraid Ms. Martens must go into hiding for the time being. We don’t have much time, I can hold them off for a short while but…” Her lip trembled, her MI-6 composure faltering. Her victim stepped backward, grasping at the stair railing for support. She turned to shout back up the staircase.

“Mum! Please!”

“I am coming, Geraldine, surely nothing is so urgent as my bath—” Carolyn Martens came down the last flight of stairs in a white robe, her eyes landing on Villanelle in full character. Villanelle stared at her with large, liquid eyes. Carolyn’s expression folded into one of absolute exasperation, but Geraldine was already hurrying into the next room.

“Ms. Martens, they’re coming, they want you…neutralized.”

“Mum, I have my things packed, grab your passport and we can leave now, worry about our things later—“ Geraldine dragged a couple bloated bags and suitcases from the adjacent living room, fumbling for her coat. Carolyn stood still on the last step of the stairs, gazing steadily at Villanelle until she relented and broke character into an impish grin. Geraldine turned around.

“Mum? Did you hear her? We need to go—”

“Geraldine, what type of MI6 officer walks about in an orange poncho?”

Villanelle pouted. “It’s a cape coat, actually.”

Geraldine looked back at Villanelle, unsure what to make of her new Russian cadence.

“What…what’s going on?”

Villanelle stepped toward her, glancing up at an impassive Carolyn and making an educated guess about their relation.

“I work for your mother. She tells me who to kill, I kill them.” Villanelle’s smile widened. “I’m just here to debrief her on my last mission…death of a thousand cuts…Carolyn’s idea. Awfully gruesome, but she insisted.” Her eyes flicked back up at the older woman, whose countenance was one of mild irritation. Geraldine looked positively horrified, even more so as her mother regarded her unflinchingly.

“I’m…I am leaving.” Her voice shook as she stumbled back from Villanelle’s sneer. She slung her purse over her shoulder and collected her luggage, glancing back at Carolyn but only managing a choked sob. She slammed the door and fairly ran to her car. Villanelle peered through the window, laughing.

“Sorry about that,” Villanelle said, clearly not sorry. “Are you sure she’s yours?”

“Step. Thank you, that was just the push she needed.”

Villanelle felt a bit crestfallen at the mildness of reaction garnered.

“Why are you here?”

“I need something from you.” Villanelle remained casual.

“I told you,” Carolyn sounded positively exasperated. “I am not looking to hire—"

“I don’t need a job. I need information.”

“You agreed cold turkey, didn’t you?”

“I do,” Villanelle shrugged. “I’m just trying to settle some…debts first.”

Carolyn sighed.

“Tell Eve that I am not going to tolerate you two running under my feet again,” she said, impatience rising in her tone. “It is for your own good that you let this lie where it is. If Eve wants to discuss this, she should come to me herself.”

“This is not about _Eve,_ ” Villanelle countered irritably.

“Isn’t it?”

Villanelle took a deep breath, barely containing her petulance. This new “verbal negotiation” method was already getting a bit grating.

“I don’t know what kind of position you are in to be holding back…especially when I have a direct line to the Twelve and a testimony.” Villanelle raised her eyebrows triumphantly, tucking her hands behind her back. Carolyn seemed to paused at the attempt at blatant blackmail.

“Willing to jeopardize your tenuous alliance with Eve like that?” Carolyn observed, mild amusement in her voice.

“It’s not _tenuous_ ,” Villanelle mocked her vocabulary. “She knows what I’m doing. This is for the best.”

“Of course.”

Carolyn’s composure irked Villanelle beyond reason.

“Who was Paul?”

“I thought your gripe was with Helene?”

Villanelle wasn’t sure if this was progress, but pushed ahead anyways.

“I need to go higher up. She acts all high and mighty but I know they just switched out Konstantin and Dasha for a…hot French lady.”

“Like I said earlier, you cannot destroy the Twelve.”

“I don’t want to destroy them. I just want to destroy their use for me.”

Carolyn raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve killed…almost killed…four handlers, one tried to kill _me_ , they’ll send someone new if I don’t prove I’m too much trouble for their worth.”

“The answer is simpler, isn’t it? Stop killing. Show them you cannot kill.”

Villanelle frowned, gears turning. Carolyn descended the last few steps of the stairs, expression suddenly serious and engaged.

“Villanelle, stick with the petty revenge if you really want to feel better about yourself. But the more tangled up in this you get, the more trouble you’ll have getting out. If at all.”

She scowled distrustfully. “Why are you giving me this advice?”

“Because I don’t want you making my job any harder. Again. I don’t want any more dirt kicked up, I’ve just managed to pull up the mole.” She turned toward the kitchen, flicking the lights on. Villanelle followed her.

“Please, I just need to clean up. I can’t have them come after us…Eve won’t be able to handle it.”

“Are you sure it’s not you that can’t do it?”

“Do you only ever talk in questions?” Villanelle snapped. “What are you even implying?”

“I don’t know why I’m entertaining this right now. There’s the door, don’t make me drag you out by the ear.”

“I’ll give you everything I find,” Villanelle offered desperately. “I’ll find what your son found.”

A heavy silence settled in the room. Carolyn stopped, grasping the back of a chair until her knuckles turned white.

“Don’t use my son’s name as a justification for your little campaign,” she spat the last two words, her back still to Villanelle. “I’ve washed my hands of this.”

“You’re head of Russian intelligence at MI6, this is your whole job,” Villanelle bristled. “I’ll ‘kick this up’ for you in any direction I please, it’s just one way I’ll be on your side and the other you’ll be on the losing one.”

Carolyn released her vise grip on the chair, deflating in an uncharacteristic act of defeat that took her guest aback.

“You’re an assassin first. What will _you_ do with yourself? You’re on a crusade.” Carolyn walked around the kitchen counter to decant a healthy dose of scotch into a lowball. She looked at Villanelle. The young woman’s mouth was twisted in uncertainty for the first time that visit, in a seemingly thoughtful daze.

“I know.”

Villanelle’s stare snapped back to the present, back at the subject of her intrusion. She smiled, her eyes glinting with her previous threat.

“Help me out here.”

“Fine,” Carolyn conceded, taking a large sip. “I can offer you very little about Paul, but I have some info on Hélène that may be of use.”

Villanelle nodded, pleased.

“A fun warm up. Collateral.”


End file.
